


our memory will be my lullaby

by JakeyFryMason011



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alan Walker, Alan Walker Needs More Subscribers, Depression, Emo Mike Wheeler, F/M, Songfic, because everyone likes that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-07 18:18:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15913683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JakeyFryMason011/pseuds/JakeyFryMason011
Summary: Yesterday got awayMelodies stuck inside your headA song in every breathMike Wheeler's agonizing wait.





	our memory will be my lullaby

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't done anything Mileven-centric yet--I'M SO ASHAMED. If you guys are into Alan Walker at all, I think you'd agree that this song sounds SUPER mileven. (Even if that made no sense)

_Wait a second, let me catch my breath_

He went often to the little places that reminded him of her. The forest, the spot where the fort had been, the La-Z Boy, Benny's. The classroom.

The cafeteria.

The others seemed to move on, seemed to want to put the whole thing behind them, Will especially.

Not Mike.

"Hello, El? This is Mike...I guess I'd try and talk to you through here in the event you hear me?"

That was Day One. 

_Remind me how it feels to hear your voice_

Sometimes he thought he could hear her in his SuperComm, whispering his name. He was always wrong. As time went on, he got more moody and withdrew from things that used to make him happy. D&D games became less and less frequent. 

Oh, how he hated himself.

He hated what he had become, and he hated what he hadn't done. He should have been there to push her from danger, he should have been better at hiding her. 

He should have been  _better._

_Your lips are moving, I can't hear a thing_

But what could he have done?

_Living life as if we had a choice._

Sometimes he fantasized about what life would be like if she were still alive. If she were right there, next to him, to smile with that odd little quirk on the corner of her mouth, to fix him with that permanently surprised expression, the glowing dark eyes. He saw her name everywhere and wrote it where he did not. A truck passed through town advertising "Eleven different flavors!" and he felt torn between the desire to laugh and to crawl into the forest and cry.

_Anywhere, anytime, I would do anything for you_

A woman was shown on the news, a cancer survivor, her hair cut short, and he simply stared as the news reporter talked about how the woman was using a wig in public. The screen flashed to the wig: blonde and shoulder-length. Mike left the room.

He had found the real wig in the forest by a pond. It was filthy and seemed to have been nesting for animals. He took it home, washed it, and placed it in a box of things that reminded him of her. An Eggo box, a toy dinosaur, a shirt, a watch, a rock, and now the wig. 

_Anything for you_

 "El? Are you there? It's me, Mike. Today was okay, but it would have been better if you were here."

His birthday came and went, and he pretended to be happy and smiled and his friends looked relieved.  _Look, he's almost back to normal again!_ their thought bubbles said.

That night he screamed into his pillow.

_Yesterday got away_

Indeed it had--it seemed like only a few days ago that he was in the woods, the rain pouring down his shirt, shining a beam of light in the face of a girl in a too-big shirt.

"Stop it! You're freaking her out!" "She's freaking me out!"

_Melodies stuck inside your head_

Was she alive? Ah, that was the question, wasn't it? She had vaporized, it seemed, but he liked to imagine there was a chance, just a chance, she lived.

It was easier to say that.

_A song in every breath_

Will appeared on his front step with a mix tape, and left with only the words "For her." Mike listened and cried. They were songs to remind him of Eleven. 

He both hated and loved Will Byers at that moment. 

_Sing me to sleep now_

_Sing me to sleep_

_Oh, just sing me to sleep now_

_Sing me to sleep_

"El, it's Mike again. I saw this butterfly today and it was all your favorite colors. And Dustin says he found a spot of dried blood from your nose on a rock. Can you believe it's still there? Please come back. 

I love you."

_Remember me now, time cannot erase_

Someone noted a large amount of "011" scribbles in the boy's bathroom, which of course Mike had no idea about. Mr Clarke asked him where Eleanor had gone, and of course Mike didn't know.

_I can hear your whispers in my mind_

Was that a response? 

"El?"

From the walkie talkie?

"El, is that you?"

Silence.

_I've become what you cannot embrace_

Nancy now called him "Emo Mike", and he shot her such a glare whenever she did that blood might as well have leaked from his nose. But there was truth because now the boy who loved everything now found solace in nothing. The smile was gone, the child was broken, the dream was dead.

_Our memory will be my_ _lullaby_

Before he went to sleep every night, he imagined her sitting on his floor, whispering "Sweet dreams, Mike." Every night. And every night, he dreamed of a black landscape and pools of shallow water, and a girl in the distance. She walked towards him, and he ran, and they might have touched but for the morning light shattering the dark.

_Sing me to sleep now_

_Sing me to sleep_

_Oh, just sing me to sleep now_

_Sing me to sleep._

"El, it's Mike. I just wanted to say that...I miss you. I miss you..."

 

 


End file.
